A Maxwell Maligned (Laird of Lochandee)

by Kirkwood, Gwen

One afternoon, after a strenuous race up the hill behind the farm, Ross laughingly caught her in his arms and kissed her. It was a gentle, fleeting kiss, almost childlike in its butterfly caress, but it had been enough to awaken the age-old awareness of a man and a woman. The ready blush coloured Rachel’s skin.

  ‘I do believe that is the first time you have been kissed,’ Ross said. ‘Tell me I am right, dear Rachel.’ He brushed a gentle finger across her mouth, wonderingly. ‘Am I the first to take such a privilege?’

  She nodded shyly. Ross seized her slight figure and swung her round in joyous glee.

  ‘You are as light as a feather, yet I often forget you are so young. You are as skilled as any woman in the house and in the dairy, and you have borne so many troubles already. We all forget you are scarcely more than a child.’

  Rachel’s head jerked up.

  ‘Is that how you see me, Ross? As a child?’ He looked at her then, intently, his eyes moving over her small neat features, her thick burnished hair escaping from beneath the ridiculous cap his mother insisted she should wear. He thought there was a shadow of anxiety in her blue eyes, but her lips were red and faintly mutinous. One day she would be beautiful and she would have spirit. His heartbeat quickened. One day she would be his. His eyes widened as the thought came to him.

  ‘No,’ he said huskily, ‘No, I do not think of you as a child.’ Without warning he cupped her face in his work roughened hands and kissed her lips, lingering this time, feeling a yearning within him which he knew could swiftly turn to passion. He lifted his head and heard the soft lingering sigh as he released her. For a moment he was silent, his heart filled with an impossible desire. Then he smiled.

  ‘You see,’ he whispered softly, ‘Kissing gets even better with practice.’

  Willie and his horses were mowing down the grass ready to make the hay. Everyone prayed earnestly for fine weather. A good crop could make all the difference to the survival through another winter. Hands were blistered and sore, tempers were short as they turned and re-turned the rows of grass to make the most of the summer sun.

  ‘I’ll have to get my own field of hay in as soon as this is finished,’ Willie said. He turned to look at Meg and Rachel.

  ‘I hope you will come down with Ross and help us in the evenings, if you are not too weary.’ He winked at Meg. ‘I think you will enjoy it this year.’ Meg flushed and Rachel looked at her curiously, wondering what Willie’s unspoken message conveyed.

  It did not take Rachel long to interpret Willie’s meaning the first evening she went with Meg to the small paddock behind Willie’s cottage. Peter Sedgeman, the grocer, was already there, wielding his long two-pronged fork. He greeted Meg warmly and as they worked he was never far from her side, talking quietly as they moved along the rows. The air was fragrant with the scent of newly mown hay and the atmosphere was happy.

  Ruth brought a jug of her freshly made lemonade to refresh them and for a little while they sat together on the warm grass enjoying the peace and the evensong of the birds. The weather was calm and settled but it could change without warning. They all worked steadily until the purple shadows of evening crept over the sky. When Willie called a halt Ross beckoned Rachel and they strolled together over the field towards the Windlebrae boundary, leaving Meg and Peter Sedgeman deep in conversation.

  ‘We’ll walk slowly to give Meg time to catch us up. If Mother suspects she’s talking to Peter there will be trouble.’ Rachel nodded agreement. It suited her to walk slowly, and not just for Meg’s sake.

  ‘Mr Sedgeman seems a pleasant man, but he has such a wistful look. He makes me feel sad.’

  ‘His wife died soon after the twins were born so he has his hands full. She was an orphan and had been brought up by Peter’s parents. I think it was probably a marriage of convenience after Peter’s parents died. Anyway she is dead now and Peter employs a housekeeper to care for the children. Ruth saw her once and thinks she is a slovenly creature.’

  ‘No wonder he looks so unhappy.’

  They reached the boundary wall and Ross turned to lift her over, but before he let her go he held her close and kissed her until she gasped for breath. Only then did he set her on her feet again. He vaulted easily over the wall himself and pulled her back into the circle of his arm.

  ‘We’ll wait here for Meg.’

  It took two more evenings at Willie’s hay. They finished earlier than they had expected on the last evening. All day the weather had been sultry and the air seemed to hang heavily, pressing their clothes against sweating bodies.

  ‘It looks like we shall have thunder before morning,’ Willie remarked. ‘Ruth and I can’t thank you all enough for helping us get the crop in safely.’

  ‘I’m going across to the burn to cool my feet,’ Ross said. ‘Anyone else fancy a paddle?’ He looked at Rachel but she looked at Meg for guidance. It was Peter Sedgeman who answered.

  ‘Meg and I will meet you at the boundary wall in about an hour.’ He took Meg’s elbow and squeezed it gently. ‘That all right, Meg? I want to hear what your mother said last night. It would give us a chance to talk properly?’ There was pleading in his brown eyes. Meg nodded.

  ‘I’ll leave the paddling to you two youngsters,’ Willie laughed, glancing at Ross and Rachel. ‘I’ll go and wash myself at the pump.’

  So Rachel and Ross wandered over a small meadow and down a slope to where the burn looped onto Windlebrae land and back again.

  ‘All of this semicircle of land floods when we have the winter storms,’ Ross told her. ‘It’s as though the water is in such a hurry it is trying to find a short cut to the river. It will be fairly low just now but there is a decent pool in the hollow down there by the trees.’

  ‘If it is wet and cool it will be wonderful,’ Rachel sighed, glancing down at her boots and feeling the heat in her woollen stockings. She wondered how Meg and Mrs Maxwell managed to work at all in the heavy corsets they both wore. Meg had told her only the other day it would soon be time for her to wear them too, now that she was growing into a woman and her figure was developing. They had been preparing for bed. Rachel blushed when Meg eyed her narrow waist, her slender buttocks and small firm breasts, comparing them with her own rounded curves.

  ‘I didn’t mean to embarrass you, dearest Rachel,’ Meg chuckled. ‘As a matter of fact I’m glad Mother decided she wanted to use your tiny room for setting the cream. It’s lovely having you share my bedroom – almost like having a young sister. Mind you it can be so hot up here under the eaves in the summer. Sometimes I throw off my nightgown and the bedclothes to try to keep cool. I expect Mother would be shocked if she knew.’

  ‘I never had anyone to talk to before – n-not about girl’s th-things,’ Rachel stammered shyly.

  ‘Well you have now so if ever you are worried about anything just tell me and I will help if I can.’

  ‘I thought I was going to die,’ Rachel confided, ‘the first time there w-was blood. I ran to Minnie’s house.’

  ‘Did she explain that it was a natural part of being a woman?’ Meg asked curiously, remembering her own alarm and how grim and abrupt her own mother had been, how brief and unsatisfactory her explanation.

  ‘She said it was only a sign I was a woman grown and nothing to worry about. She said I must keep myself clean and behave like a young lady and I would come to no harm.’

  ‘Mmm …’ Meg murmured doubtfully. ‘I suppose that’s sound advice.’ She was hardly qualified to offer any better herself, she thought ruefully.

  Rachel’s attention came back to Ross as he threw himself down on the springy turf beside the burn. He unlaced his boots, peeling off his thick socks, and wiggling his toes with relief.

  ‘Come on Rachel, surely you are longing to cool your feet? The first time we met you had been paddling in the burn.’

  He edged nearer the water and dangled his feet in the flowing stream. Rachel bit her lip. His back was towards her. Swiftly she pulled up her long grey skirt and unlaced her boots. Guiltily s
he pulled down her stockings and laid them on the grass.

  The running water was deliciously cool on their hot skin and Rachel soon forgot any pretensions to hide her ankles and act like a lady. She laughed with delight as her toes slipped on the smooth pebbles. Ross bent to roll his trouser legs up as far as they would go, revealing his long muscular calves. She watched him enviously, wishing she could do the same.

  ‘I would have had them off altogether if you had not been here,’ he grinned.

  ‘Do you want me to leave then?’

  ‘Indeed I do not!’ He seized her hands. ‘You know how much I like your company, dearest Rachel.’ Then the merry sparkle left his blue eyes and he stared down into her face intently.

  ‘I’ve never been very sure what this thing called love is, but I’m beginning to think it must be what I feel for you.’ He watched the delicate colour rise in her cheeks and she lowered her eyes shyly. He released one hand and gently touched the golden crescent of her lashes where they rested on her cheek. Then his hand slid behind her back and he drew her closer, holding her tenderly as he bent to kiss her lips. Around them the clear water of the burn rippled on its way.

  Rachel was growing more familiar with Ross’s kisses now and her natural shyness was disappearing as her ability to please him grew. Tentatively she slipped her arms around him and felt the beating of his heart against her own. His kisses deepened with passion as he felt the soft yielding curves of her body against his own. His foot slipped on a large pebble and he almost lost his balance. Rachel had not noticed until then how wet the hem of her dress had become. She lifted her skirt a little and hastened out of the water. Ross followed, flinging himself on the grass and waving his feet in the air to dry them.

  ‘Come on, sit beside me, Rachel. You will soon dry in this heat.’ He reached up and tugged her hand, pulling her onto the grass. She wrinkled her nose at the feel of the wet material under her thighs. Propping herself on one elbow she struggled to spread her skirt more comfortably but Ross pulled her off balance. She landed breathlessly across his chest. He chuckled and cupped her face in his hands, savouring each kiss as he covered her features one by one.

  ‘I love this wee dimple best of all,’ he murmured huskily as his lips settled at the corner of her mouth. Gently, he eased her onto her back and looked down into her face. His eyes moved to her bare toes, still glistening with water. ‘Every bit of you is perfect.’ He reached down to cup one foot in his hand, rubbing it dry, then moving to the other one.

  It was a natural progression to wipe away the droplets from her legs but as his fingers moved to her knee and back again, up and down, he was aware of the smooth white skin, the firmness of her limbs. Involuntarily his hands moved to the softness of her thigh, the pad of his thumb automatically massaging its silken skin. He heard her sharp intake of breath and looked down into her face, seeing her parted lips, the twin patches burning in her cheeks, her blue-green eyes fixed on his face, as trusting as a child’s. But the swift rise and fall of her breasts told him she had all the feelings of a woman, all the passion he himself had been striving to control each time he held her in his arms. He buried his face against her neck, feeling the pulse in the soft hollow of her throat. Her cap had fallen off and he longed to loosen her hair from the confines its braids. Instead he kissed her again, and again, over and over.

  His hands sought the places he had barely dared to dream of. Rachel had neither the strength nor the will to stop him. In the dim recesses of her mind she knew she should, but the desire to please Ross, the longings he had aroused in her, were beyond reason.

  They were waiting at the boundary when Meg joined them. She seemed too preoccupied to notice Rachel’s creased dress with the patches of damp. She was vaguely aware of the aura of happiness which seemed to surround both Ross and Rachel, but it only added to her own misery.

  None of them wanted supper. Gertrude assumed they had eaten with Ruth and Willie. In the dim light of the kitchen she did not notice anything amiss and the girls hastened to their attic room, neither of them ready for an inquisition.

  Rachel soon feigned sleep wanting only to relive the moments of ecstasy she and Ross had shared. Mentally she hugged herself with joy, hearing again the words Ross had breathed against her warm skin – over and over.

  ‘I love you, I love you. Now you are mine. I love you, my own Rachel.’

  Her half-waking, half-sleeping reverie was disturbed by Meg’s trembling body. Gradually she became aware Meg was trying to stifle her sobs. Rachel lay still, afraid to move. She sensed Meg did not want to share her troubles but her sorrow dimmed her own happiness a little. Meg was so kind and caring, surely she deserved to be happy too.

  Meg knew she could be happy with Peter and his little family, but her mother was so vehemently opposed to the idea. She was wise enough not to criticise Peter outright but instead she reminded Meg of the burden of having an invalid in the house, of the extra work, of her own aging body. Her father never grumbled, rarely asked for attention and he had never lost his whimsical smile. His eyes still crinkled with humour and Meg wondered how a man could ever be a burden if you loved him. Did her mother love her father? Did she love any of them, Meg pondered with a bitterness which was alien to her nature. In her heart she knew her mother was trading on the love and loyalty she had always shown towards her father. He had always been a kindly, caring parent and she would never neglect him now that he was the one who needed care. Meg felt torn between loyalty to her parents and her love for Peter but as she sobbed into her pillow she knew she was reaching the limit of her endurance.

  Chapter Six

  WILLIE’S FATHER-IN-LAW, John Landell, often brought a bundle of newspapers and magazines when he came down from the city. Cameron Maxwell and Ross liked to read them, even though the news was often old. Towards the end of July Ross looked up from one of the papers. There was a challenge and defiance in his blue eyes.

  ‘It’s fifty years since the first Bank Holiday. I think we ought to have a holiday too’

  ‘Holiday?’ Gertrude exclaimed, ‘I never heard of such a thing!’

  ‘Mr Landell’s hiring a charabanc. He’s taking Ruth and the children and two of his friends to the coast.’

  ‘Is he?’ Cameron looked up with interest. ‘What about Willie?’

  ‘Mr Landell wants him to go too, but Willie didn’t think he could leave us to do the work. Of course he wouldn’t feel guilty if he thought we were having an afternoon at the fair.’

  ‘John Landell might have bought himself a bit of land but he doesn’t understand anything about farming,’ Gertrude muttered. ‘There’s always work to do.’

  ‘Well I think it would be good for Willie,’ Ross insisted. ‘I told him we could manage the milking. But it would be a pleasant change if Meg and Rachel and I could go to the Bank Holiday Fair. We could take the pony and trap. We would be back for milking.’

  ‘I shall be at the butter churn while you are idle. And who would look after the hens and pigs, and take care of him?’ She glowered at her husband. Meg winced at her disparaging tone. How could her mother talk about her father and the hens and pigs in the same breath?

  ‘I will stay at home and look after father.’

  ‘Eh, lassie I don’t need a nursemaid. Just leave me a bite to eat and pull the table a bit nearer. A change would do you more good. You look pale and wan these days. Are you well enough, Meg?’

  ‘I’m well, Father,’ Meg assured him but her smile was forced. Rachel knew Meg was often restless at nights and she looked pale and weary in the mornings.

  ‘You would like to go to the Fair, wouldn’t you Rachel?’ Ross asked anxiously. ‘You’re very quiet.’

  ‘I don’t think my best black dress would be very suitable for the Fair,’ she said diffidently, unwilling to disappoint him. ‘And it is much too soon to wear my muslin dress. Besides ...’she hesitated, reluctant to say she had no pennies to spend on the rides and coconut stalls and all the other pleasure of the fairground.


  ‘You can wear my grey silk dress,’ Meg offered at once. ‘It was always a little tight and it does not fit at all now. In fact you may keep it.’ Gertrude scowled. Meg pretended not to see. The grey silk dress was the one her mother had insisted she should wear after they came out of mourning for Josh. If Gertrude had had her way they would all have worn black for the rest of their lives.

  So, despite clouds of disapproval, Ross and Rachel took the pony and trap and set out for the annual Bank Holiday Fair promising to be back for milking. Meg had no heart for celebrations but her mother was not placated by her presence.

  The sky was overcast but nothing could dampen their spirits, just being alone together was enough. Ross did not have much money to spend either and for the first time he understood why Willie and Ruth kept their own cow and a few hens and a pig, why John Landell had insisted his daughter should have her own cottage and a bit of land. It was just as well that Ruth’s father had enough money to be generous to his daughter and his grandchildren. They would have had few pleasures otherwise.

  No one had much money these days but the holiday atmosphere and the music would have cheered all but the most melancholy hearts. After a couple of rides on the gaily coloured horses, Ross won two ribbons for Rachel’s hair. Eventually they came to a stall selling sticky buns and one next to it with large savoury pasties.

  ‘Shall we buy something to eat and find a quiet place to ourselves?’ Ross asked. His eyes met hers and Rachel saw the desire in them. Her colour deepened. Twice more he had loved her and each time was better than before. Her stomach seemed to turn upside down as her own desire quickened. She nodded, her eyes bright, her colour high.

  It was a day to remember and they sang softly together as they jogged along the narrow leafy lanes back to Windlebrae. It was the first time Rachel had been away from the farm, other than the walk to the kirk. She was completely lost as the narrow roads turned and twisted and crossed over but Dolly, the pony, seemed to know instinctively which way to go and Ross claimed Rachel’s attention as they jogged along with his arm around her waist.